


Sweet and Sour

by smilebackwards



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef/Waiter AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He said <i>what</i> about my paella?” Tim asks, dangerously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and Sour

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/652033.html?thread=87905793#t87905793) prompt.

“He said _what_ about my paella?” Tim asks, dangerously.

Jason thinks he should have reconsidered telling Tim about the slight from Table 4. Especially when he had a French knife in his hand. “I mean obviously the guy has taste buds of lead,” Jason says. “Your paella is amazing.”

Jason’s not even being biased. Saveur, MetropolisPlate.com and The Gotham fucking Journal have all agreed that Tim’s paella is “a divine experience,” “riveting and extraordinary” and just “goddamn good.”

Tim’s food in general is widely accepted as goddamn good. When Sweet and Sour had secured Timothy Drake as head chef after his meteoric rise through the culinary world, Jason had been as jubilant as the rest of the staff, although admittedly as much because of Tim’s blue eyes and sharp tongue as his vaunted coq au vin and wild salmon with basil. 

Jason’s only fallen harder over the past year and after the customer at Table 4 declared his entire meal from the paella to the lovingly hand-battered zucchini “distinctly underwhelming” like a condescending, dissatisfied food critic, Jason had almost put the guy’s face through the table instead of taking his order for after dinner coffee.

“Harper!” Tim yells over the patisserie counter, “Give me that marble cake.”

Roy immediately plates one of the single-serving cakes he’s just pulled out of the oven and slides it across the stainless steel of Tim’s workspace. When Tim gets upset in the kitchen, shit gets set on fire. After the second time the fire department arrived, siren blaring—and was later placated with chocolate éclairs—Jason made sure the entire staff was trained to use the fire extinguishers and ran drills in the back parking lot with the leftovers from cocktails.

Tim pulls out his blowtorch.

“Whoa,” Jason starts to say but Tim directs the flame down at the cake, crisping the edges. He slowly pours an even layer of melted chocolate over the whole thing and lets it firm up as he zests an orange slice stolen from the plate of duck l’orange he was just about to order up for Table 9. Jason watches hungrily as Tim purées raspberries and mint into a sauce and drizzles it in angry red zigzags over the plate as a final garnish. 

“Go give him that,” Tim says, shoving the beautiful cake at Jason. “And tell him he’s an asshole.”

_I love you,_ Jason thinks, helplessly.

He must be projecting it kind of vividly through his expression because the angry corners of Tim’s mouth turn up. “I”ll make you one after close,” he says. 

Jason leans over the counter to give Tim a peck on the lips. “You’re the best, babe.” He picks up the plate with reverent hands and kicks open the swinging kitchen door. That jerk at Table 4 is going to eat his words.


End file.
